


Tsars and Khans

by vangoghingtohell



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Historical AU, Kazakh Royal Family, M/M, Russian Royal Family, Viktor with a K, royal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 12:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9820535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vangoghingtohell/pseuds/vangoghingtohell
Summary: Grand Duke Plisetsky becomes bored of life as Regent of the Royal Nikiforov Family. A party of Kazakh delegates arrives for Tsar Nikiforov's Christmas ball that will soon change that.This fic will probably take me forever to finish because I'm writing when I feel like it and without a plan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a oneshot Price Yuri prompt from a friend of mine, and became whatever this is!

The Nikiforov palace stood tall and proud, watching over the gulf just north of the pristine city of St Petersburg. The elegant building was a symbol of the power of the Nikiforov family, who had ruled Russia for as far back as anyone alive could remember. The huge building watched over the city every day, and it was from here that Viktor Nikiforov, Tsar of the Russian Empire, ran his powerful nation.

From outside, the rose pink building lay silent and peaceful, the gold gilding glittering in the sunlight. From inside, however, was a completely different story.

“WHERE IS MY GODDAMN LILAC ROBE?! HONESTLY I SWEAR TO GOD IF IT’S _STILL_ BEING LAUNDERED SOMEONE’S HEAD IS GONNA ROLL!”

The huge doors to the throne room swung shut behind him, the dull thud echoing around the hall. The tapestries hanging from the walls, each depicting various members of the powerful family, fluttered in the breeze caused by the dramatic entrance.

“Relax, Yuri, do you not have something else to wear? Perhaps borrow from the Duke Chulanont?”

Viktor’s voice bounced around the room.

“Me, borrow from Chulanont? Never in a million years! I have no interest in his Thai robes!”

“Grand Duke Plisetsky, we are in the throne room, address Duke Chulanont by his correct title. And if you really do not have anything to wear aside from your Lilac robe, you will have to wander in your sleeping robes for the rest of the day.”

Yuri huffed and swept out of the room, the huge mahogany doors once again swinging shut behind him.

\--

Yuri Plisetsky was the Grand Duke of Russia, and essentially the prince, seeing as he was next in line for the throne. He was also one of the most loved members of the royal family, which was saying something, as his and Viktor’s father almost led Russia into a revolt against them. At seventeen years old, he had grown into a tall, slender man who still wore his hair in braid that went up to a high ponytail on his head, secured with a clasp that depicted the Nikiforov coat of arms.

Now, he found himself in the throne room wearing his turquoise gown, a sliver sash across his chest, and silver epaulettes, the one on his left shoulder draping down to his elbow, the one on his right obscured by the sash. He was vaguely aware of the Estonian Royal Delegation arriving. He thought to himself ‘Why on earth are they here?’, and then realised it was already December. Every year, the Nikiforov held a Winter Ball on the sixth of January (Christmas).

Out in the grounds, the multitude of ponds were frozen and became the most beautiful ice rinks, whilst inside there was plenty of dancing, laughing, and merriment as various members of both Russian and international royalty mingled. This ball was the highlight of the year, but for all of the ten years he could remember attending, he had never truly found it an interesting experience. He only went for the opportunity to show off his skating skills on the lakes.

The day passed slowly, his academic lessons with Yuuri’s old tutor Minako and his dance lessons with Lilia Baranovskaya sapping him of what little energy he possessed. Yuri was bored. That was the problem. Even having multitudes of cats and being the Grand Duke of the most powerful country in the world became boring eventually. Nothing interesting had happened in Yuri’s life for so long. It was a swirl of ceremony, duties, dancing, and studies. A most boring swirl, it would seem.

That was about to change.

\--

It was a full week, a week of pretending to care about the revolutions his father had sparked, pretending to care about the sloppiness of his legs when he pirouetted across the room, when they arrived. When _he_ arrived.

They had greeted four parties of low-level Russian Royals that day, and Yuri was out of his mind. He itched to leave throne room, echoing with Viktor and Yuuri’s easy laughing and witty conversation, filled with beams of winter light shining through the enormous gilded windows on either side. He was just on the point of attempting to sneak out as the last group of Lords and Ladies left the room from the slightly smaller side door when the main doors to the antechamber swung open once more. He heard a low whistle from his sister, the Duchess Mila. His other brother, Duke Georgi, stood on the other side of the thrones, on Victor’s left. His high cheekbones and sharp features remained expressionless as ever.

“Tsar Nikiforov, Tsar Katsuki, I, royal ambassador to King Altin of Kazakhstan, greet you. I also greet Duchess Mila, Duke Georgi, and of course, Grand Duke Plisetsky. Unfortunately, I bear the news that his highness was unable to attend the ball this year, due to issues in his homeland. However, I present in his place his son, heir to the Kazakh throne, Prince Otabek Altin.”

Form behind the ambassador stepped a man dressed in Arabesque clothing. He was slightly shorter than Yuri, and his features more heavy set, more defined. His jaw told Yuri that he was a stubborn man. Despite his height, his muscular yet lean build foretold the man would be a great ruler.

Otabek stepped forward and bowed to the two Tsars, Georgi, and Yuri. He then took Mila’s hand into his and kissed it.

“Thank you for coming, Prince Altin. Send word to your father that we are prepared to assist him in his endeavours if he so requires. Please, make yourself comfortable in the west wing while you are here with us in Russia.”

“I will, your highness. Thank you for your hospitality, and I will send word of your kindness to my father immediately.”

And with that, the Kazakh party turned, and he watched the group of bright colours walk down the sky blue carpeting that ran through the centre of the room up to the dais where the thrones stood, and through the doors, which, when shut by the servants, swung with barely a whisper. He noticed both Viktor and Yuuri staring at him with knowing looks on their faces. “Oh shut up, you idiots.” He swept away into the door that stood behind the thrones whilst Mila and Georgi dissolved into fits of giggles, hurriedly composing themselves as the great doors swung open to once more admit yet another family of aristocrats from some other godforsaken country.

\--

He spent the next three days trying to find the Kazakh man, but he was never in his room. Or anywhere in the grounds. Or anywhere in the palace, it seemed.

It was the fourth day when he finally found Otabek. Yuri had been standing alone on a small arch that stretched across a wide creek flowing into one of the many lakes. He had wandered outside absentmindedly and deep in thought, not noticing the cold gnawing at him until finally the tendrils that curled around his arms snapped him out of his stupor.

It was just as he began to realise he was shivering when he felt a coat being wrapped around his shoulders.

“I could have you killed for that, you know.”

Otabek shrugged.

“You looked cold.”

“Thanks”

That day, after bundling up properly, Yuri showed Otabek through the grounds, taking him all the way around the Palace until they found themselves sitting in a small rotunda overlooking the same creek.

“How’s Russia treating you so far?”

“Very well, your highness, the people of St Petersburg are ever so kind.”

“There’s no one here, we can drop the formalities.”

“Well, in that case, I’m cold and tired and this weather has chewed me up and spit me out every day since we got here.”

This made Yuri laugh. Not a snicker or a chuckle. An actual laugh. He hadn’t laughed like that in years. Anyone else he would have chewed out for daring to insult Russia like that.

\--

When they first kissed, it was under the same rotunda, huddling together as they hid from the cold. It was an accident, at first. Yuri had slipped on an icy patch on the rotunda and landed on Otabek. Before he could hastily roll away, their lips had met, and before he could jump back from that, they were both kissing back.

After they broke apart, Yuri was astounded. “Otabek, I barely know you, what are we doing?”

“I could ask you the same question, Grand Duke.”

\--

December passed all too quickly in each other’s company, but every day they shared was shadowed by the thought that Otabek would eventually have to return to his people, and that the ball was drawing ever closer.

Soon the grounds of the Nikiforov Estate became too small for them, having explored every nook and cranny. It had become an easy routine of simply walking for most of the day, excepting when the young Grand Duke had classes. The two knew the grounds like they knew the backs of their own (and by this point, one another’s) hands. Yuri had taken Otabek to every secret place of his, every little gated garden.

Finally the two found themselves exploring the city. It was nice, the people said, to see their future ruler out and about, even if he did mostly just clasp hands with them from inside his carriage, the two only stepping outside when one saw a park, or an inn, or just somewhere interesting they wanted to look at.

For the first time in almost eight years, Yuri wasn’t bored. Instead he woke up each day with an energy that the entire royal household spoke of, from Viktor and Yuuri having open conversations thinking he couldn’t hear them, to the scullery maids gossiping quietly as they worked to prepare the next lavish meal. For one, Yuri didn’t care that he was the subject of everyone’s attention. He only care for the attention of one person, and he had it. So he was happy.

\--

New Year’s rolled around before he knew it, and after spending New Year’s Eve with Otabek, it was time for the royal address. This was made by Viktor and Yuuri, standing on the highest balcony of the Nikiforov Palace, along with Yuri, Mila, and Georgi. Lord Nikolai, Yuri’s grandfather who had been forced by his own son to give up his position as Tsar, sat with Lord Yakov and Lilia on the west balcony. Minako and some Japanese royals from Yuuri’s family sat on the east balcony. The other balconies were peppered with aristocrats, boyars, and extended family members. The grounds of the estate were filling with the inhabitants of St Petersburg who watched, rapt, as their beloved Tsar Viktor spoke about Russia’s prosperity going into another year as the nation to beat.

Yuri was busy scanning the grounds for that familiar heavyset jaw, those stoic features that he had come to look forward to seeing so often, living in the palace with him. Yuri had often found himself wondering why, even though so many delegations were stating in the palace and the outlying buildings, Otabek was the only one he had bumped into repeatedly. Of course, now he figured there was a slight chance it _might_ have been on purpose. Here and there in the crowd he saw flashes of colour similar to what the Kazakh delegation wore for ceremonies, but it turned out to be nothing more than another banner or brightly dressed subject. Otabek was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, the crowd below burst into applause and cheers. Viktor and Yuuri waved at their adoring crowds, and before he knew it they were turning back into the conservatory-esque floor that the high balcony opened into. This floor was right under the great glass dome, and it was essentially a great balcony that circled the room below, known as the Upper Ballroom. This was the most used ballroom in the palace, owing to the fact that the dome bounced the light of the stars around the room like nobody’s business. It was truly a sight, especially with the lamps lit, and the hall was decked out in traditional Russian splendour. It was here, the ballroom and various chambers of the top two floors of the palace, where the Christmas and New Year’s balls retired once the grounds became too cold. The four doors to the ballroom opened to admit access from various antechambers and four of the Palace’s great winding staircases, allowing people to comfortably flow in and out of the ballroom.

Today it was a bustle of activity as the various servants and others hired by the household were decorating for the small New Year’s celebration, open only to those granted personal permission by a direct family member, and also simultaneously preparing for the huge ball being thrown in six days. It was bustle of hubbub that remained invisible to all but those who lived in the palace. Even the guests were not permitted into the two highest floors until the time for the ball came.

Yuri stormed across the hall, startling at least three unsuspecting workers, footsteps echoing over the din.

“What’s his deal?” Mila was concerned.

“I think, sister dearest, that Yuri may be falling in love.”

“Look, Georgi, just because you fell in love with that Duchess from Moscow, what was it, Anya? Anyway, just because that happened, you’re not an expert.”

“Ah, that may be true, sister, but what Georgi says may be right. Yuri has been behaving very oddly recently. He’s been spending plenty of time with that lovely Prince Altin.” Viktor startled the two of them as he sidled up, grinning.

\--

Yuri threw himself on his bed, not even bothering to throw off his ceremonial outfit and slip into something more comfortable. He lay there, not really understanding his mood. So what if Otabek hadn’t been at his big brother’s shitty speech? It wasn’t a big deal. He and Otabek weren’t committed, Otabek had no obligation to be present at the speech, there was no reason he should be mad at him. But he was.

Someone knocked on the door to the antechamber of his suite. “Come in.” He spoke through his pillow where his head was buried. The sound of feet filled the room. It was probably just some servant come to replace his towels or something like that. He didn’t except the person to sit on his bed and begin carding through his golden hair, which lay splayed out over his multitude of pillows. He snapped “You little shit get your dirty hag hands out of my hai-” It was Otabek. “Beka.” He breathed the word tentatively, hoping Otabek would accept it. Otabek’s unusually expressionless face curved into what could be called a smile, at a stretch. “What was that about my dirty hag hands, _Yura?”_ The word rolled comfortable off his tongue.

The two sat like that, Yuri half-sleeping in his mountain of pillows, Otabek braiding and opening his hair over and over. A comfortable silence took hold of the room. It was only interrupted after almost an hour. “What was with your mood earlier, Yura? You were so tense and snappy.”

“I’m not sure. I was just stewing. About everything. How one day running this place will be my job, and I’ll be alone, and how boring it will be even living here once you’ve gone. I’m just so tired, and I haven’t even begun yet. It’s just so daunting. And then today, seeing Viktor do everything so well, being in control of everything with Viktor by his side, it made me want you, Beka. And went you weren’t there, I just sort of…” He trailed off.

“Oh, Yura.” He lifted Yuri and kissed him. “I’ll be there for you, if it has to be in spirit then let it be so. Remember that next time.” The silence took hold once more as they lay together, simply in each other’s presence. Hours later, the two were asleep.

The Grand Duke of Russia and the Prince of Kazakhstan’s absence from the New Year’s ball was noted, but the only guests present were those who seen the two in each other’s company over the last few weeks, and nobody took any notice.

\--

The Christmas ball drew closer and Otabek found himself spending more and more time alone as Yuri perfected his routine. Each year at the obligatory Christmas Ball, Yuri presented a figure skating routine to the visiting guests. Now, as the event drew closer, Yuri went and practiced at one of the many ponds or lakes on the estate. He favoured those that were obscured by foliage or landscape, as his routine was meant to be a surprise to everyone and he didn’t want it to be seen by anyone, not even Otabek.

Otabek filled his time hiding in the vast library of the palace, a huge room filled with shelves stocked with literature and history and knowledge from all over the world. The smell of old paper mingled with the smell of old furniture, creating ascent that was unique to this institution. Soft and flickering gas lamps illuminated the shelves, whilst the reading areas were lit by the huge windows that the architect of this estate seemed so fond of. Together, they created magical light that shrouded the books, the shelves, the tables. It fascinated him that he had never heard of this place before. In all the five days between that day in Yuri’s suite and the Christmas ball, he lost himself in the archive. It was almost bliss to him. It would have been, had Yuri been there with him, even if he were just complaining about the amount of time they spent in there.

Finally, the sun rose on the morning of the sixth, and the atmosphere throughout the palace changed. Suddenly it was bustling with servants making last minute arrangements, the sound of shouting from the kitchen could be heard as the chefs finally took the food they had been prepping and began to fashion it into Russian delicacies. Since December, there had been a workforce of gardeners working tirelessly to turn the palace grounds into something out of a fairy-tale. Innumerable gazebos were erected, decorated with shining rope and glitter. The rotundas found themselves laden with tables of finger foods. The ponds and lakes were all cleaned and prepared, and servants donned uniforms, preparing to wait on guests who wanted everything from pirozhki to skates, ready to take full advantage of the frozen over pools in the grounds.

The guests began to trickle through the main gates of the central palace, traveling the long way round to enter via the grand archway. Viktor, Yuuri, Mila, and Georgi stood at the steps to the palace, Yuri nowhere to be seen. This was normal for the family, because they normally opened with Yuri’s performance, and then he vanished to prepare for the ball itself.

Right now, Yuri was dressing himself in his chambers, tying up his laces. He wore an opaque white bodysuit that clung to his slender figure. Glittering red highlights drew attention to his hands and feet, which was where he wanted it to be. He stood up, shakily on his skates. Funny how theses skates, that made him so graceful on the ice, did the complete opposite when thrown into something they were not made for (Like ruling Russia, for example.). He made his way outside via an entrance in a small alcove that was at the time, covered in a gilded red velvet curtain. Russia never skimped on glamour.

The full orchestra in the grass enforced that thought, as they began to tune, casting a hush over those staring eagerly at the curtains, waiting for Yuri to step out onto the lake. When he did, the entire feel of the situation changed. Otabek, sitting next to Mila (He knew someone in the Royal Family), audibly gasped, pouring incentive into Yuri. The orchestra began to play. It was a piece that had been composed for him on commission of Viktor, after last year’s event. _Take me with you,_ it was called. Funny how since Otabek’s departure began to loom, that tool on an entire new meaning, particularly now that he had decided he did not want to be the Tsar of Russia. How would he break it to Viktor?

The first few notes began to play and Yuri’s head cleared almost instantly. This was what he loved about skating, that it cleared his head and he thought of nothing but moving to the music.

When Yuri started to skate, Otabek’s breath hitched. It was hands down the most beautiful thing Otabek had seen, and Otabek had seen many beautiful things. The way Yuri danced and spun and jumped and twirled across the ice mesmerised and captivated the entire audience. It was truly something to behold. If only there were a way to capture this moment forever. Viktor and Yuuri both smiled knowingly from behind him, sitting in the Royal Box.

Yuri danced across the ice like he had been doing it since he could walk (which he had), and he knew it. Every movement was pronounced, calculated, graceful. He launched into jumps with his arms up, flew into spins as the music played, the orchestra pouring notes into the darkening sky. Before he knew it, he was entering his final spin, and the music reached a finale with a flourishing crescendo, and then he was in his finishing position, poised, one arm across his chest, one pointing to… Otabek? The sound of the audience’s applause tickled at his ears, unnoticed. And then he was rushing across the ice, skating with daring speed toward him. His skate caught the ice and he went flying, to the shock of the audience.

Otabek caught him mid fall, stepping onto the ice, the two falling onto the ice in each other’s arms. The world around them fell away as they looked into one another’s eyes.

_He has the eyes of a soldier._

A pointedly loud cough from Mila snapped them back to attention, Yuri now being the one giving Otabek assistance as they stepped off the ice, Yuri still maintaining every semblance of grace that he could.

\--

By the time Yuri was dressed and ready, celebrations were well underway, and the doors to the grand staircases had been thrown open as guests began to gradually move upward. Multiple guards in gold trimmed dark blue uniforms saluted him as he swept past, still the living embodiment of grace and beauty. The first think he did was stride across the grounds purposefully to find Yuuri and his older brother. Viktor greeted him with a hug, and he allowed it this time. He had made up his mind about something and he knew that Viktor may not like it, so he let the hug slide. “Where’s Otabek?”

“I think he’s in the Upper Ballroom with Mila.”

“Okay. If anyone wants me, tell them I’m not up there.”

“Of course.” Viktor winked.

“Ugh.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, his jewel studded cape glittering in the starlight as they watched him climb the steps and vanish through the main doors.

People cleared out of his way as he moved up the stairs, not willing to cross the feisty duke. He was, after all, probably the third most powerful man on the planet at this point He found himself at the south doors, which were the most intricate. The antechamber he stood in overlooked the main doors of the palace. Out of the great windows, one could see the moonlight sparkling off the sea, and the lights of St Petersburg twinkling to the west. It was funny, how you never realise how much you love something until you’re about to let it go.

He stepped through the arch, through the trimmings of gold and silver, through the jewels studding the doorframe, into a small group of pairs waltzing around the room. He immediately spotted Mila and Otabek and stepped in between them. “May I have this next dance, Prince Altin?” A smirk played on his lips. “Only if the duchess Mila allows it.” Mila’s eyes twinkled. “Of course I do, Grand Duke.” She vanished into the crowd, her dress melting in with the others.

A slower waltz began to play. A second orchestra had waited up here as the guests began to retreat from the cold.

“Yura?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Right now?”

Otabek dipped the taller man. “Yes.”

“I’m thinking of how to tell Viktor his beloved Grand Duke is going to Kazakhstan for a few months.”

“What?” Yuri twirled.

“Well, you’re leaving in four days, and so I will come with you, because I can’t stay here, Beka, I can’t go back to pretending I was happy with the responsibility of the world looming on my shoulders.”

“Alright.”

“What?”

“Alright, you can come to Kazakhstan.”

“I was expecting more of a fight.”

“It’s not like I could stop you.”

As the music finished with a flourish, Otabek twirled Yuri, and the two kissed as they twirled back together.

\--

“You’re what?!”

“I’m going to Kazakhstan. In three days.”

“Yuri, where on earth is this coming from?”

“Well, Otabek is the only male son of the Kazakh king, so he is the sole heir to the Kazakh throne. Here, on the other hand, Mila or Georgi can take the throne if something happens to you while I’m gone. Otabek has to be in Kazakhstan as soon as he can, and I’m going with.”

“Is there no way I can stop you?

“My bags are packed and there are extra carriages coming from Kazakhstan to join our caravan, but we will meet them while we travel. So, in short, not at all.”

“What about your duties?”

“Look, Viktor. I don’t want to be Tsar. I’m _bored_. Actually, truly bored. And then when Otabek arrived it changed everything, and I can’t go back to what it was before, I just can’t go back to pretending everything is alright, while what I want is so far away, in a far off kingdom, taunting me. I’m not going to let that happen. Not this time.”

\--

The next day, Tsar Viktor shocked the country by naming a regent. Not for himself, but for the Grand Duke, who was leaving for some far-off land. The regency was handed to Duchess Mila, or rather, Grand Duchess Mila, as she was to be known once Yuri crossed the border, and until his return. The nation was not expecting a regency, especially their Grand Duke. It would probably take more time for the news to travel through the huge land than it would for Yuri to even reach Kazakhstan. Over time, the initial shock would ripple across the country, but Yuri would already be in the great palace at Almaty.

The caravan left from the gates of the Nikiforov Palace with much more fanfare than a regular caravan of nobles, due to the Importance of one particular royal who was travelling with them. Yuri had allowed both his brothers and his sister to hug him, even letting Yuuri do so, grudgingly.

Yuri and Otabek were sharing a carriage, and although it was morning, Yuri went to sleep almost instantly while Otabek played with hair and watched the centre of Russia’s power disappear behind them, and he was still watching, hours later, as the caravan plunged forward on the long, arduous,  journey back to his ancestral home in the Palace at Almaty, where his father, mother, and beloved younger sister waited.

Viktor and Yuuri watched the caravan follow the winding road to the city, various carriages travelling in a single mass. Because of the nature of the group, they chose to bypass the city altogether, and the group of wagons soon morphed into a single entity, before vanishing entirely. The Tsar of Russia led Yuuri by the hand back through the gates and up the path to the great palace. The sun rose and glinted off the sea, and off the many trimmings and windows of the great Nikiforov Palace, where, for the two of them, Russia waited.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leaving Kudos is good for the soul (Hint, hint)!  
> Seriously though, thanks for reading.


End file.
